The Delivery Girl

42. Christmas

Julie

I step up onto the small platform, feeling my knees wobble, and carefully examine myself in the tri fold mirror. For a second I hardly recognize myself. My red gown glitters in the light, and my silver heels make me feel more elegant, but also strangely fragile. My normally plain hair has been styled into soft waves with little diamonds pinned in, and my makeup is applied more nicely than its ever been before.

This whole outfit probably costs more than my car. Callen insisted he could buy it for me, "Just let me spoil you," he said, but I couldn't do it. It felt too easy, like leaning onto him in the way I've never wanted to. I rented the dress instead and paid for the stylists myself.

Downstairs, I can hear dozens of people; caterers prepping in the kitchen, decorators transforming the house into something straight out of a Christmas movie, party planners rushing around, and musicians warming up.

Callen comes into the room and stops right behind me. I look at him in the mirror, there's a gentle warmth in his eyes that so easily reminds me why I let myself believe him when he says he cares. He's wearing an immaculate black suit, white shirt, and black tie; all perfectly pressed, fresh from the dry cleaners. Or maybe they're brand new. Who knows.

"You look amazing," he says softly, kissing my cheek.

"Thank you," I say shyly. I turn around and he takes my hand to help me off the platform – I still haven't gotten a hang of how to walk in these shoes.

"Are you feeling ok?"

I stop myself from immediately deflecting. The instinctive part of me wants to say, of course, don't worry about me. Pretending I'm ok when I'm not. After that night a few weeks ago, we've both been trying to be better.

He's been making an effort too, trying to cut back on work. Leaving the office at seven instead of eight. Eating more of our meals together.

It's still a crazy amount of work, and I can tell he's getting antsy. The tension in his shoulders when he has to ignore phone calls that come after midnight. I wake up some nights to an empty bed, finding him writing emails in the dark.

But he's trying. That's what matters.

"I'm nervous," I admit. I was hesitant to accept the invitation. The memory of that dinner still lingers, but I want to give him another chance. "It's a lot of important people, and I'm just... me." And I hate how fragile I sound.

He gently lifts my chin. I meet his eyes, the ones that leave me helpless if I let them.

"Don't say that. You are important, Julie." His voice is earnest, genuine.

Maybe it's a mistake, but I let myself believe him.

–

Downstairs, the house is filled with guests. People who seem like they were born for this world – they're elegant, poised, their laughter light and effortless. The net worth of this room must be in the hundreds of millions.

It feels more like a grand hall than Callen's house. Servers carrying trays of drinks and horderves gracefully weave around the room. The sounds of a string quartet drift through the chatter. Every inch of the house is draped in twinkling lights, garlands, and expertly decorated Christmas trees.

Is this how the one percent lives?

I gulp, trying to take everything in. Callen offers me his arm and I grip on tightly.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet." He leads me down the hall, and we enter one of the dens.

Seated on the sofa is a woman. She's elegant in a way that feels effortless. She gives off an air of confidence and class that I've never noticed on anyone besides Callen. She's on the phone, talking to someone about publishing something. Something about her is familiar - the way she holds her phone, the subtle authority in her voice.